That Bitter Taste
by California Kat
Summary: Set two years after the final scene of True Blood, Eric and Sookie are reassessing their choices. And both of them realize that what they feel most is bitterness. Can they turn that bitter to sweet?
1. Chapter 1: The Grafter

**Summary:** Set two years after the final scene of True Blood, but Eric and Sookie are reassessing their choices. And both of them realize that what they feel most is bitterness. Can they turn that bitter to sweet?

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognized characters, images, lines of dialogue, and plot lines are the sole property of their creators. I own only my own imagination as it involves the characters I love; however, even my imaginary constructions would be impossible without _True Blood_ and the _Southern Vampire Mystery_ series. My work is not-for-profit and intended only for the enjoyment of the writer and readers. No copyright infringement is intended.

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><p><strong>That Bitter Taste<strong>

"**Bitterness imprisons life; love releases it."—Harry Emerson Fosdick**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: The Grafter<strong>

"**In hatred as in love, we grow like the thing we brood upon. What we loathe, we graft into our very soul."—Mary Renault**

**Two Years after the end of **_**True Blood**_

**ERIC POV**

Bitterness—I'd known of vampires who succumbed to that emotion like they might succumb to a stake. However, bitterness tended to leave a much greater mess. After all, blood and muck could be washed away, or—in the case of Bill Compton—buried.

Bitterness seemed un-washable.

I had always been self-aware—even as a child living a very different kind of life more than a thousand years ago.

I knew who I was from an early age—the son of a king. And I knew that I didn't want to be that. So I had rebelled—with forethought and with verve. Did I really think my rebellion would get me out of being king? No. I knew my role; I knew my destiny. And—though my father was right that I appeared to be shirking my destiny in some ways—I didn't dodge it at all in other ways.

I learned the sword.

I learned the politics.

I learned "how" to be king by studying my father. And I learned what a king's wife should be like by studying my mother.

Call it an Oedipal Complex if you like, but I wanted to marry someone like my mother. She was strong and brave—and _more_ somehow.

Though it was difficult to quantify that "more."

When my father went on a raid, my mother took care of our people with even more steely nerves than my father could muster. Indeed, I learned that my father's greatest wisdom was in the fact that he never discounted my mother's ideas and opinions—even when he was holding court.

I've seen cultures where misogyny ruled, but the community of my birth was not like that. My father never appeared or felt weaker when he turned to my mother to ask her opinion. No—he recognized that she made him stronger. And she, in turn, respected and treasured him.

In my mind, none of the women I fucked back then were ever candidates to be my wife. In fact, none of the daughters of the noblemen that my father tried to foist upon me were true candidates either. Simply put, none were worthy because none were of the same ilk as my mother. I have learned since then that _that_ kind of person—that kind of _partner_—is one in a million.

One in a billion.

That's not to say that I haven't found many people of both genders admirable over my many years. I have—most certainly. But, to that admirableness must be added true compatibility in order for a relationship such as my mother's and father's to evolve.

That kind of mutuality is rare—so rare, in fact, that it took me a thousand years to find such a person who I wanted to keep by my side.

Oh—there had been "possibilities" over the years.

For instance, Nora had immediately caught my eye. She was brave and smart. And I always found her to be a remarkable beauty. When I asked Godric to turn her, I'd had a clear purpose in mind. I had wanted to keep her around—though I hadn't wanted to be her maker.

Why not?

Because—in the first moments of meeting her—I had hope that she might prove to be that complement I'd been subconsciously seeking, ever since I'd witnessed the beautiful union of my parents. Simply put, I knew that Nora couldn't be my partner if I were her maker, which would invariably set up a hierarchy between us.

Sadly, it didn't take long for me to realize that Nora and I weren't true complements. Oh—I loved her. Moreover, I cared for her. But we rubbed each other the wrong way, despite the fact that—physically—we were capable of "rubbing" each other just right.

Still—"compatible" we were not.

"Sara's made us another $200,000.00," Pam grinned as she walked into my office at Fangtasia. She was carrying two briefcases that were assumedly full of money.

I looked around at my messy office as Pam placed the briefcases on the couch and then walked out of the room—probably to go find a lover for the night.

Why did we still have this shit-hole when we'd made billions off of New Blood? And even more off of Sarah?

Bitterness.

I felt mired in it. Moreover, I felt bad about trapping my child in it with me.

It's funny how the rebellions of my human youth had amounted to little more than sexual promiscuity. Like I said, even though my father might have thought otherwise, I had learned how to rule effectively. And, after his death, that is just what I had done; I'd ruled—well. Of course, I did it out of duty—not choice. I married a woman who was not a partner to me, though she did her duty too. She was a beauty, and she accepted my body when I wanted hers. When I was off on a raid, she oversaw things at home, though she would always defer to Úlfr, an advisor to my father who had lost the use of an arm during the raid by Russell's Weres. Úlfr couldn't fight anymore, so he stayed at home. And, essentially, Aude let him make all of the important decisions when I wasn't there. It wasn't that she was weak; she was just "uncertain." However, she was a good mother to our children.

Yes. Back then, when duty had called, my rebellions had ended.

But my rebellions now seemed endlessly fed by my bitterness.

Quicksand.

And the vampire in the mirror was a stranger to me.

What was I rebelling against now?

_Feelings_.

I hated them. The witch, Marnie, had once ripped my sense of self out of my body and left me memory-less. But, perhaps, her greatest harm had been ripping away the barriers I'd always put between my emotions and my actions.

As a human, I'd had to erect that barrier. I'd hated being king—despised it—but I still needed to be a good one because others relied upon me. I had consciously separated my disdain from my duty so that I could rule.

After I became a vampire, I became even more efficient at separating my feelings from my actions—though I did have slip-ups on occasion. However, Godric taught me that emotions made vampires weak and that they should be mastered.

And, of course, I witnessed firsthand what happened to him when he allowed his emotions—specifically his guilt—to "master" him. It was ironic that Godric could be such a good teacher when it came to separating emotion from action—when he was the one who committed suicide as his guilt drove him to that Dallas rooftop.

Am I bitter about what he did? Yes.

Am I bitter about the hate I feel for him now—hate that is mixed interchangeably with the love I have never been able to stifle for him? Yes. There is _much_ to be bitter about; he left me.

He left me confused. Confounded.

Am I bitter that I "saw" him after his death? Yes. It was he who had counseled me to "forgive" the murderer of my parents by giving him a swift death.

Not surprisingly, I'd rebelled. And Russell had ended up in cement—a can of worms to be opened later. But in leaving him alive, my bitterness against both him and my maker had festered.

Godric "graced" me with more appearances. Ironically enough, he took on his "old" persona and suggested that I chew up Sookie when I had no memories. I'd almost given in to that "teaching." I suppose that would have created guilt in me to match even Godric's. Maybe he had wanted me to join him in the sun.

Yes—I am bitter.

His next visits—during the whole Lilith debacle—were no picnic either. First, he put me in "charge" of bringing sanity back to Nora—to keep her safe. And I failed to do that.

Another cause of bitterness.

Next, he "visited" both Nora and me, only to be struck down "forever" by Lilith. Talk about getting fucked in the head!

Yes—I am bitter.

But most of my bitterness comes from my own failures. I failed to convince Godric to stay. I failed to protect my sister because I was short-sighted in making Willa—who is another failure of mine.

In fact, when I think about it, I've been a shitty maker all around. I should admit that I didn't want to "make" Pam. She forced my hand by slitting her wrists in her brothel. Otherwise, I would have glamoured her to forget vampires, and I would have left. Oh—I "liked" Pam even as a human. Her survival instincts were as cold as any vampire's, and she'd already learned the lesson Godric had spent centuries perfecting in me: mastering your emotions. Pam had been a master at that well before she'd met her first vampire.

I won't lie and say that I don't love her. I do. She is good company and has always kept me amused—on my toes. But I know now that I've done her a disservice by wanting to hold onto her company for so damned long! Her life is too wrapped up in mine—just as mine was wrapped up in Godric's. His death left a bitter hole in me—the same kind of hole that my death would have created in Pam. And _that_ is why she was so fucking relentless in making sure that I lived.

Don't get me wrong. A part of me is grateful to her for my continued survival. But another part of me wishes that she'd just left me the fuck alone. Maybe I would have simply shriveled up and died, or maybe I would have eventually fought. But the fact that Pam couldn't let me go, even after I'd "freed" her has left me thinking that she will one day be bitter at me. As it stands, she _should_ be.

Her coldness when dealing with the world has only grown during the last several years. The Madame who once took such care of her girls that she was willing to go against a vampire had become a seller of Sarah Newlin's blood. She drew the line at "whoring" Sarah out as a sex slave. After all, a minute wasn't a long enough time to both feed and fuck. But was being a blood slave dressed up in a piece of lingerie much better than being a sex slave?

I thought not.

Of course, I let Pam do what she wanted with Sarah—though the action "should" have been out of character for her. After all, I owed Pam, and she, too, was bitter at the world. She was bitter at me for almost leaving it, although her love for me made her refuse to lash out in my direction. So she lashed out at Sarah as a substitution.

Don't get me wrong; I didn't give two shits about Sarah, and I'd not shit in a very long time! But, even in my human time, I was against gratuitous violence against women. But my bitterness had made me "justify" Sarah's treatment. She had tortured vampires at that Vamp Camp, after all. She'd be partly responsible for Hep-V. She had been partly responsible for killing Nora.

Torture. Suffering. Sarah deserved it. And I knew that it had driven her insane.

Karma.

But her misery didn't leave me any less bitter. Could any pain that Sarah Newlin felt make the bitterness less in me? No. I'd learned that lesson well now.

But Pam still celebrated Sarah's pain—probably to cover her own.

Bitter. I was bitter that I didn't teach Pam—by example—to be a better maker. Like me, she'd turned her first child not out of desire, but because of coercion. Sookie had begged her to turn Tara in exchange for something. Pam hadn't wanted Tara, though she'd eventually made "somewhat" of a go at being a decent maker. But she'd not made Tara a true priority.

At least I'd done _that_ much for Pam. But I'd not given her the thing she'd craved the most when becoming a vampire: true independence from the whims of the world and from "men."

Maybe I'd been too bitter that she'd "forced" me to be her maker.

Another bitter pill that I have let linger on my tongue instead of just swallowing the mother fucker is Sookie Stackhouse. As I said, the witch's spell did more than take my memories. It made me—for, perhaps, the first time in my life—align my actions with my feelings. I had "felt" something for Sookie, and I had acted on it. I had loved without shame or hesitation or question. Twice, I had gotten down on my knees ready to die for her. And one of those times had been _after_ I'd regained my memories.

The damage, however, had been done. With Sookie, my actions and feelings seemed destined to be one.

More than with any other, I intuited that Sookie was the complement I'd hoped for—even when I didn't recognize that I was hoping.

The first night I'd met her, she'd felt "right" sitting next to me on the dais. She proved herself brave that night, if a little naïve. She proved she cared when she told me about the raid. After all, neither she nor Bill would have gotten into any trouble for being there.

She'd proven brave again when she'd successfully negotiated with me to not kill any guilty humans when she read their minds for me. She'd reminded me—in that moment—of my mother, reaching compromises in discussions with my father. And I'd _wanted_ to compromise with her. After all, she'd made a fair point.

Beautiful. Brave. Loyal. Clever. Those qualities were very attractive, but none solidified her as my match. Something else had. Who knew that it would be her defiant stubbornness that had truly made her a partner for me—my complement. Of course, fate decided to be a bitch and give me only small tastes of the kind of life I might lead with that complement. For—if I were Sookie's match as she were mine—she'd _certainly_ never recognized that fact.

Was I bitter that Sookie had always seen Bill Compton as her own "match?" As her soul mate?

Yes.

Sookie would likely defend that she _had_ loved me—in her own way.

But when my eyes were open, I knew where I had ranked with her: somewhere below the Were, somewhere above the psychopathic faepire, probably about even with the shifter.

Well below Compton.

Maybe Sookie was scared of how "good" we could be together. After all, her life had taught her—many times—that "too good to be true" was just that—"too good to be true."

What we had when I was without my memories was—without doubt—seemingly "too good to be true." So she likely thought my claims of love were false. I knew that—at the very least—she doubted that she loved me. She had been certain that it had been my blood in her which had created her love for me.

Thus, my blood made her bitter—at me. And Bill's blood made her bitter at him. That is why she'd initially rejected us both.

I had understood her reasoning. But it hadn't decreased my own bitterness at her.

So—as with Godric—hatred became mixed into love.

I hated Sookie for never giving _me_ a chance. I hated her for taking away my chance to live a fulfilling life with a true partner. I hated her for not recognizing that we could _perfect _each other. I hated her for failing to see that I was willing to act on my love—but only with her. I hated her for not understanding just how risky that was for me to do after a thousand years of trying to be the master of my emotions. I hated her for becoming the master over my heart.

Yes. When she'd rejected me, my bitterness had grown.

So I did what I'd always done. I tried to separate my emotions from my actions. I returned Sookie's home to her in order to _try_ to prove that I was over her. I told myself that "another life" would have made things right between us. I tried to overlook the fact that she sought out the affections of others—the "faepire" and the Were—_after_ she'd determined that my love for her wasn't good enough. Those others got a chance—a real chance with her.

I never did.

Strange how those others did so much goddamned damage to her—when I _never_ did.

Yes—I am bitter. Even more bitter because I haven't been able to stop loving her. I wasn't able to stop "acting" out of that love.

Even when I returned to Bon Temps with Pam when I had Hep-V, I felt compelled to go to Sookie—to make sure she was okay. She wasn't. So I helped her. As usual, she and I worked well together—_when_ she gave me the chance.

That chance hadn't lasted long.

Holding her had felt like paradise. Fighting by her side—even though I couldn't fight worth a shit at the time—was transformative. Helping her save her friend had earned me a look of gratitude from her.

The fool I was, I'd mistaken it as a look of love.

So after I'd been cured, I went to her again—ready to take her into my arms again—only to find her back with Bill. And I'd agreed to help her once more by getting Bill a cure, though my bitterness ate up another piece of my soul as I stood on Bill's porch and smelled him on—and _in_—the woman I loved.

She'd gone back on _everything_ she'd said about wanting to be "normal." But I could read the bitterness in her own eyes. Her guilt had driven her back to Bill, just as surely as Godric's had driven him to the top of that rooftop. And her guilt had taken away the possibility of my being with her—of my truly "living"—just as Godric's guilt had taken his life.

Neither one of them had chosen _me_.

_Again_, my love just wasn't enough.

Yes. I was bitter.

The person I'd loved most had chosen to love Bill Compton—despite the fact that he wouldn't take the fucking "Sarah cure" and rid Sookie of her guilt. That evening—even as he'd denied his own life—she had instinctively sought out the comfort of my arms, but she had never trusted that comfort enough to stay in them.

Was it bitterness that had made me tell Sookie that she ought to speak with Bill the last time I'd seen her?

Yes.

I had been bitter that I'd been asked to be a "marriage counselor" by Bill. I was bitter because I knew that talking to Bill was what Sookie would do no matter what—after she'd cooled down. Bill had always had the ability to manipulate her.

He'd always thought of darkness and light as opposites—always opposed to one another. That was why he and Sookie had had such a painfully volatile relationship.

These days, Sookie might romanticize their time together by claiming that love had to be "fought for."

But I knew better.

My parents had shown me that "better." Love _wasn't_ a fight between the two people "in love." It wasn't a struggle. It was a _joining_ that made them "one."

In short, it didn't "steal" light. It couldn't.

Meanwhile, even as Sookie had rejected me, I had _known_ that she and I were complements—just as I knew that light and dark were complements. They didn't have to struggle for supremacy, for—when they were together—did they not create something "new?" Something beautiful. In pure darkness, one couldn't see. In pure light, one would go blind. But—when light and dark mixed together—one could see clearly.

Sadly, Sookie believed _Bill's_ narrative—just as the bitterness inside of me had known that she would.

I had tested her, and she had failed. And I lost her yet again.

In the end, she'd helped that selfish motherfucker take his own life when he could have staked himself or met the sun. It had been only a small victory that she'd not given up her Fae nature when helping him. After all, she'd almost immediately taken steps to seek out the version of life _Bill_ wanted for her.

It wasn't the version that I knew she'd been "meant" for. But what the fuck could I do about it? I couldn't—wouldn't—_force_ her to love me.

And I wouldn't beg—not again.

Sookie had been mistaken. I had loved the girl in the white dress because she'd proudly sat next to me on the dais as if she'd belonged there. And she had belonged there—next to me! That girl could have chosen me because she'd yet to become jaded by Bill's deceptions and her own guilt regarding her grandmother's death.

I _didn't_ love that girl in white and red because I thought she should be "normal" according to the close-minded ideals of Bon Temps—or Bill Compton. I didn't love that girl because I thought her naivety was preferable to her knowledge. I wanted that girl to come back so that she could "choose" me.

So that she could choose the best version for her life—choose her own "normal" with no regrets or apologies!

I wanted to see the woman who could easily and confidently etch out the best life that she could in her world—just as my mother had done.

Was I bitter that Sookie had sold herself short and hadn't done that? Yes.

Was I bitter that the Sookie left behind following Bill's death was "his" version of what she should be?

Yes.

Sookie had written me a letter, not long after Bill's death. In it, she'd told me that she had "helped" Bill to die, though she'd not given up her "light." In it, she'd told me that Bill was right—that she needed to seek out a "normal" life with a "normal" man. She thanked me for helping her save Arlene. She thanked me for convincing her to talk with Bill. She thanked me for her home and offered to pay me for it "a little at a time." And she asked me to respect her need for normalcy by staying away.

Was I bitter? Yes.

The accumulated bitterness in me made me withhold the cure for Hep-V from my kind; I pretended that my motivation was increased wealth, but it wasn't. Call me a bastard—but I truly didn't care about the suffering of the infected.

For those who had Hep-V already, I gave them a continuous supply of Band-Aids that would keep the disease from taking hold of their bodies—but just barely. New Blood also gave those who drank it "temporary" inoculation, so that vampires could feed from infected humans without getting the Hep-V virus. Of course, they needed to have a New Blood right before they fed on a human—just to be safe.

Indeed, I had been betraying my kind for money that I didn't even need every day for the past six years because I was too bitter to allow them a real cure. I had suffered immeasurable loss, so I made others suffer too.

I was a sadistic, blind jackass.

I let vampires exist with the same disease that had killed Nora, and I profited from their travail.

My bitterness had allowed me to overlook my own hypocrisy—until now.

I had awoken that night seeing my actions as what they truly were—the child-like rebellion against hurt that I hadn't wanted to acknowledge.

But there were worse things than hurt.

It was time either to swallow my bitterness or to do the world a favor by meeting the sun.

I had decided to swallow—come what may.

I decided to _feel_ again.

And to change.

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><p><strong>AN: You might be frustrated that I've started yet another story. But I was stuck at work without my laptop the other day, and I had many hours between appointments, so I just started penning this. It has only 3 chapters, and it's drafted already, so it won't take much time away from my other tomes. Still—I hope you like this one. I'm still trying to figure out how the ending of **_**TB**_** can be "fixed." **

**Sookie's POV will be next. **

**Soon,**

**Kat**

**Many thanks to Kleannhouse for lending me an extra set of eyes. AND many thanks for the AMAZING banner from Sephrenia! You can see it on californiakat1564. wordpress. com  
><strong>


	2. Chapter 2: Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

**Chapter 2: Self-Fulfilling Prophecy**

"_**Your life is the fruit of your own doing. You have no one to blame but yourself."—Joseph**__**Campbell**_

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><p><strong>SOOKIE POV<strong>

I bounced little Adele on my hip as I looked down at Bill Compton's grave. The old gravestone now included _two_ dates of death.

Some would call that overkill. But—I'd eventually become relieved that Bill was dead—even if it had to happen twice.

And by my own hand. _And_ his.

Maybe my hard-found relief over his being gone made me a monster.

"Six years," I sighed to myself. I felt like it had been both a lifetime ago and a blink since Bill had asked me to use my light to end him.

I'd married since then.

And I'd been divorced.

I'd become a mother.

And a single mother.

And then a mother for a second time—when my cousin had committed suicide and abandoned her child with a twenty-dollar bill and my address pinned to his raggedy clothing. Mark hadn't wanted anything to do with Hunter, but—truth be told—we were already well on our way to a divorce before Hunter came into the picture.

I sighed again. I had met my ex-husband Mark through an online dating website. I figured that eHarmony could help me to get to know people without my telepathy getting in the way. Mark was a decent guy. And, once I met him, I quickly ascertained that his thoughts weren't too different from his words.

After Bill had died, I'd decided to take his wishes for me to heart. He'd wanted me to have a family—a "normal" life. And wasn't that what I'd always wanted too?

So I'd strived for just that. I found a boyfriend that eHarmony said I was 92% compatible with. And Mark and I "met" via emails and then Skype. Of course, I had been on the computer that Eric had put in my house during his renovations, and I'd used the Internet connection he'd pre-paid for a decade. I'd felt guilty about that, but I'd been so stubbornly attached to my desire to have a 'normal' life back then. And the damned Internet company wouldn't accept my money!

Damned high-handed vampire! The phone company and cable company had been the same way.

Mark eventually visited from North Carolina, where he owned a feed lot. I'd gone back to being a waitress by the time we'd met, and Arlene eventually made me the night manager at Bellefleur's since she could afford to pay someone else to do that job and since she'd wanted to spend more time with her vampire boyfriend.

I sometimes wondered how others could have such successful relationships with vampires, while I'd not been able to do the same—unless I counted the few days that Eric didn't have his memories.

But remembering those horrible—yet happy—days just made me feel bitterness now. But only at myself.

Yes—those days had been horrible. A witch had been trying to force vampires into the sun, and she'd even tried to burn Eric and Bill at a stake! But those days had been strangely happy for me too. Eric had made me happy, but I'd been unable to trust him—unable to trust myself.

Unable to trust the blood in me.

The better part of a decade into their relationships, Hoyt, Arlene, and Lafayette were all happy with their respective vampire partners, and—despite the fact that they'd all shared blood with them—none of them seemed controlled. Hell—Lafayette and James now had a full blood bond, and James planned to turn Lala as soon as Lala announced that he'd reached his peak!

No—having vampire blood hadn't seemed to have affected the personalities of Hoyt, Arlene, or Lala!

Maybe I was just weak. After all, I'd let Bill's blood have an influence over me; I'd let it change me. I'd let myself succumb to his manipulations—even _after_ I'd known that he was capable of lying to both me and himself.

"Because of you, I blamed my fairy-nature for my inability to have a 'normal' relationship with a vampire," I said to Bill's grave.

I felt like spitting on the headstone, but I didn't.

Yes—eventually my love for Bill had turned to bitterness.

But I continued to reserve the greatest share of my bitterness for myself. _I'd_ been the one to believe Bill—after all. I'd been the one to accept that my relationship with Bill was "best."

Bill had convinced me that love had to be sacrifice and pain.

But—let's face it—even before Bill came into my life, I couldn't imagine that anyone could ever love me.

Because of my telepathy, I'd heard so many rejections from the minds of others. I was too crazy. I was too odd. I was too different. I was too fat. I was too thin. I was too blonde. I was not blonde enough. I was too tall. Too short. Too smart. Too dumb.

From even my earliest recollections, I was a litany of "wrongs" in people's minds.

I'd thought that I'd been _right_ for Bill. I'd thought that he'd been _right_ for me. I'd thought that fate had given me someone I couldn't hear in order to reward me for enduring hearing everyone else. But my relationship with Bill was a lie—until _he_ believed it. And then it became "real" for him.

But, still, he'd kept the truth from me. Only because of Eric had Bill confessed.

Bill's lies—once his blood had faded from my system—had left a bitter taste in my mouth.

"I gave up my innocence for a pretty little lie," I whispered, glancing over toward Gran's grave, which was about thirty feet away. "You would be ashamed of me," I said in her direction, believing my words to be true.

Seven years before, I had run to Gran's grave for comfort, only to find myself in a world where the leader wanted to keep me forever. My grandfather had lost his life helping me to return home. Another bitter pill.

Of course, my home had no longer been mine when I'd gotten back. And everyone—save one—had given up on me. Even the one who'd said that he'd loved me—Bill—had moved on.

Why had Eric held out hope?

I'd been too afraid to ask that question more than half a decade before. So I'd made up my own answers.

It was "safer" that way.

And dumber.

I told myself that Eric wanted me only for my body and my blood. I told myself that he wanted merely to "own me" because of some contest he and Bill had been having—a competition where I was a prize to be won.

A contest where my blood and my telepathy—_the spoils_—would go to the victor.

I'd been afraid that those two things were the only reason that anyone could ever love me. Maybe that was why I'd wanted to find a "normal" man who could find me worthwhile.

I sighed and shifted Adele in my arms. I'd named her for her great-grandmother. Maybe I'd been hoping to atone to Gran—to make up for the guilt I felt concerning her death. But there was no making up for anything now. And that's why Bill's grave was now the closest I would get to Gran's. After all, I deserved to suffer and remember my mistakes. I didn't think that I deserved the comfort that Gran would, perhaps, give—even from her grave. To be honest, I didn't even feel worthy enough to put flowers on the grass covering her—though I paid Hunter an allowance for making sure the weeds were off of her grave. He also planted perennials around her headstone. He'd inherited her green thumb—it seemed.

I hadn't. I seemed to kill whatever I touched.

As Adele stirred in her sleep, I kissed her forehead.

I had loved Bill in such a frenzied way. I had rewarded his letting Malcolm and his nest-mates paw me by kissing him the next night. I'd rewarded his lies about Jessica by taking him back—after the Maenad had almost killed me. I'd rewarded his fucking of Lorena and his almost-draining of me by having sex with him and letting him bite me only a couple of nights later.

I had been attracted to him like a moth to a flame. Bill had been right about that.

But I'd failed to see that he had manipulated me into being that moth—time and again. And not just with his blood. He'd played on my naivety and my inexperience. He'd played on my grief and my loneliness. And, in the end, he'd had me convinced that my "light" was the _only_ thing that had ever drawn vampires to me. After all, what could be special enough about _me_ otherwise?

The litany of my flaws and sins always coming at me in stereo-sound from the humans around me only confirmed that.

_Of course_ it had been my "light" that had drawn vampires like Bill and—especially—Eric to me. What else did I have to offer?

No wealth.

No higher education.

No prospects in life.

How many mistakes had I made?

How many deaths were on my hands?

How many people had I disappointed?

Lafayette had been right. I was the angel of death—the Crypt Keeper from _Creepshow_.

Not surprisingly, at a certain point, I broke. Witches, fairies, a maenad—not to mention vampires, Weres, and shifters. And a faepire! And a fuckin' Billith! It all became too much, and I reacted by wanting to return to the beginning—_before_ I'd ever laid eyes on Bill Compton, before I'd learned about Sam being a shifter. Before Gran died. Before I was guilty of her death.

Like Typhoid Mary, I'd done so much harm; intentional or unintentional didn't matter.

What mattered was guilt. And I had a lot of that.

And bitterness.

"When I helped you to die, I nailed my own coffin shut," I whispered, even as I heard Adele snoring slightly against my shoulder. She was not quite two years old, but she still liked to sleep so that she could touch me. Like me, she was a telepath, and she had a spark. But when she could be touching me—or a vampire—it was as if she could stay at peace. That was because I could shield my thoughts from her—and shield others' thoughts from her too. And vampires' thoughts were silent to her—as they were silent to me and Hunter.

I kept up the rocking of my body to keep my child soothed.

"I have come to hate you, Bill Compton. But I wouldn't change much," I admitted to the grave that held Bill's sludgy remains.

I would never win a mother of the year award, but I loved Adele very much—though I hadn't been able to keep her father from leaving me.

Or our daughter.

In the end, my life—my "normal"—had been too _abnormal_ for Mark. Thanksgiving a couple of years ago had sealed the deal. I'd decided that I wanted to bring together all of my friends and family. It had been the first time I'd really let myself invite—to my home—_almost_ everyone that I cared about at the same time, and seeing them all made Mark rethink "us."

And our unborn child.

Four vampires had been at my get-together.

Two shifters had been there, though Sam and Nicole's oldest wouldn't actually shift until his adolescence.

Three fairies had been there: me, Adilyn, and Jason and Brigette's middle child, who also had a spark.

Two witches had been there: Lafayette and Holly.

I think that I'd recognized the number of _successful_ human/Supe relationships around my table at about the same time that Mark had realized full-blooded humans were in the minority.

And he'd not liked being in the minority.

We found out that Hunter had been "left" to me only a week later.

The year before, we'd married in a small ceremony, and Mark had moved to Bon Temps, letting his brother take over his business in North Carolina. Mark had opened a successful feed lot in the Monroe area.

But—after that fateful Thanksgiving meal and after I'd been called about Hunter—Mark had asked me to move with him back to North Carolina. He'd also asked that I let Hunter be "taken by the state."

Mark had wanted for our child to be raised away from all the "strangeness" of my "previous" life. I'd reminded him that I was "other." And that's when I heard a thought from him that he'd been hiding from even himself: he was with me—_in spite of_ my "otherness" because he didn't actually acknowledge that otherness. After I'd told him what I was, I'd assured him that I would try to stay out of his thoughts. I'd assured him that I wanted to have a "normal" life. So he had simply refused to think of me as anything but normal.

That was the irony of it all! I had wanted—_so badly_—to have a man think of me as normal, but once I had that, I realized the "lie" of it all.

Another lie.

More bitterness.

Mark had hoped that our child would be like _him_ and not me—not so that her life would be easier, but so that our "normal" wouldn't be disrupted. And that was when I realized how ridiculous my own dreams of normalcy had been. That was when I realized that Bill Compton's vision for my life was just that: _his_.

And it was just as flawed as the vampire who had conjured it up.

That was also when I'd realized that—even by picking Mark—I was still letting myself be tied to Bill.

Manipulated by him.

So I'd decided to be brave. Mark and I had had a heart-to-heart. By the end of it, he was packing. He'd stayed in the area long enough for the birth of his child, but—learning Adele was telepathic—he'd decided that I was the best parent for her and that he wouldn't really even know what to do with her.

He'd cut his losses.

"That's the kind of man that following your advice would have had me stuck with," I sighed.

Oh—I'd _tried_ to love Mark. And for a while, I'd even talked myself into doing just that.

And I didn't blame Bill. After all, my choices were my own. I had _allowed_ myself to be manipulated. I'd "loved" Bill too much to see the truth: that the kind of love I felt for him had been toxic.

And, because of Bill's "love," I'd not been able to trust where I couldn't "hear." So—how could I trust someone like Eric?

Of course, maybe I was right not to trust Eric. After all, he'd founded NewBlood, which was a medicine for Hep-V _without_ being a cure. And I knew a little bit about what he and Pam were doing with Sarah Newlin, not that the bitch deserved forgiveness. But selling tastes of her blood five nights a week at $100,000 a pop wasn't really honorable.

I scoffed.

"I guess only the _rich_ deserve good healthcare," I muttered, even as I thought about how many people still hated Obamacare, despite the fact that—though imperfect—it had proven itself to be a better option than the previous state of affairs—which was jack shit.

"We have Obama care," I whispered to my little girl.

I patted my daughter's back. There were two things in my life I would _never_ be bitter about, and one was her. The other was Hunter.

I sighed. As much as I loved my daughter, however, Bill had been wrong. Becoming a mother _hadn't_ "fulfilled" me. It was more like becoming a mother had made me "see the truth" so that I wouldn't pass along lies to my children. It might be too late for me to be happy, but I had—at long last—faced the most difficult truths.

It didn't matter how much Bill had said he loved me. The truth was that he _hadn't_. Someone who had loved me wouldn't have put me through the torture and guilt he'd put me through.

It was as simple as that.

In truth, Bill had been an egotistical, selfish asshole—with a martyr complex. In the end, he said that he "needed" to die so that he wouldn't "steal" my light, but he _tried_ to steal my light as he died! He wanted to take what was "different" about me so that what was left behind fit his definition of what I should have been all along. For a while, that's what I'd thought I wanted too.

As it turned out, it had been Eric who'd been right. I'd _never_ been normal—nor would I ever be.

Even if I would have given up my spark to kill Bill, I would have stayed the same "me." I still wouldn't have trusted thoughts that I couldn't hear. No—I would have killed the "me" my parents had tried to drown. Even the insane Warlow hadn't been willing to let that person die! But Bill would have taken that last bit—just because he thought if he did, no other vampire would ever want me again.

When he'd said "Sookie is mine," what he'd obviously meant was that if he couldn't have me, then no vampire could.

Yes—I had grown bitter with the years.

Bill had claimed that I would be safe and that I could find happiness if I spent my light to kill him.

As if no vampire could have ever loved _human_ Sookie.

Now—when I thought back—I remembered how Eric had once recognized both the human and the fairy "me's." And he'd seemed to like both.

Love both.

But I'd rejected him—out of fear.

More than once.

Maybe my fear was why I felt the most bitter.

"By the time I realized, it was too late," I said to the grave.

Eric had been willing to sacrifice for me _before_ taking a taste of my blood. He'd been ready to love me. He'd looked me in the eye and had told me that he wanted to be "one" with me. We'd joined in blood, but it hadn't been my blood that had driven Eric's actions in that cubby. It had been his love for me. I guess I just couldn't believe that "real" Eric would feel the same as his memory-deprived counterpart.

A thousand years of life just to end up with a "freak?" No way—I'd thought. No way would the "real" Eric want me—for more than just my freakish "gift" and my freakish blood.

It wasn't hard at all to convince myself that it had been my blood that had made Eric say he "loved" me after Marnie's spell was lifted.

After that, I'd been scared. Using my light to break the spell on Eric had seemed to only strengthen my Fae powers, and my light hadn't hurt him. It had _healed_ him.

I'd been scared of the implications of that.

But that's not why I'd rejected Eric. In truth, I'd been afraid of being rejected myself. Why wouldn't I have been? Who had loved me in my life other than Gran? My own parents had tried to kill me. My brother's first inclination after we'd lost our grandmother had been to hit me—blame me. One of my closest friends had come to resent and hate me. The other thought I was some harbinger of death. My first love had forced his blood into me after letting the Rattrays almost kill me.

I'd looked up "self-fulfilling prophecy." Wikipedia defined it as a "prediction that directly or indirectly causes itself to become true, by the very terms of the prophecy itself, due to positive feedback between belief and behavior."

Belief and behavior.

I had always believed that I couldn't be loved because I was "other." And how true that ended up being—because _I _had behaved as if it were true.

Belief and behavior.

I so desperately wanted to be "normal" that I _tried_ to behave that way—even knowing I would fail. And fail I did—over and over again—because the "normal" I was trying to be belonged to someone else: to my parents, to Bill, and even to Gran.

I loved them all. But they didn't know me—not even Gran. Maybe that was my fault since I always tried to pretend not to be "different" around her—so that she wouldn't have to worry so much.

Looking back, I realize that all of them would have been happy about my relationship with Mark. He was solid. He worked hard. He loved me—but only _half_ of me. He'd simply denied the other half. It wasn't as if Gran and my parents didn't do the same. And Bill had even wanted to take that part from me—to somehow make me "better."

That, of course, meant that I'd never been "right" to begin with.

"Better." "Bitter." Only one letter's difference.

Only one person had ever looked me in the eyes and loved everything he saw there.

"There are two Sookie Stackhouses," I said softly.

"There are," Eric said, even as he landed softly next to me. I'd not see him for six years. He still looked the same.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Chapter 3, the final chapter, is coming soon. I hope you like this! Many thanks to Kleannhouse for being my second pair of eyes and for asking me questions that force me to flesh things out. And thanks to Seph for the story's art, which you can see as californiakat1564. wordpress. com. **

**Until Chapter 3,**

**Kat **


	3. Chapter 3: A Step without Feet

**Chapter 3: A Step without Feet**

"_**This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet."—Rumi**_

* * *

><p>SOOKIE POV<p>

I was a size or two bigger since I'd had Adele. Gran would have said that I'd developed a "mother's hip" for my child to rest upon.

I had a few more wrinkles—especially across my forehead. Gran would have called them "worry lines."

I had a few stretch marks. Adele had been a big baby.

And my breasts had gotten a bit larger and then a little less perky with Adele's breast-feeding.

Yes—I'd aged, though I still looked younger than my 34 years—35 if you counted the "year" I'd been gone to the fairy realm. But I was suddenly self-conscious.

Eric was as beautiful as ever, and he was looking at me as intensely as ever. I couldn't help but to wonder if he was cataloguing the changes to me.

"Hi," I said, unable to say anything else as I looked at the person who had haunted my dreams ever since I'd allowed him back into them.

"You've been experiencing that normal life—I see," he commented.

I couldn't help but to chuckle—bitterly. "I tried. But Adele here is like me—a telepath—so I've changed my outlook."

"How so?"

"I've stopped imagining that 'normal' is something more or less than what I am. I want to teach my kids that normal is what they make of it—not what someone else tells them it ought to be."

Eric stood in silence for a few moments—watching me closely as if trying to see how the years had changed me on the inside.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing toward my daughter.

I nodded and handed my sleeping child to him. She didn't wake up; she just snuggled into him to get more comfortable. I might have learned to shield myself from her—and to shield her from others' thoughts—but vampires were still her preference.

"She likes vampires?" he asked.

"She can't hear them, and they take away the potential to hear others. Jessica's her favorite babysitter," I returned. "Willa's a close second."

Eric nodded, looking momentarily troubled. "And how is Willa?"

"She's going to college—by spring she'll be finished with a double degree in law and vampire-human relations. She's currently living with Jess and Hoyt; that house is so big—after all."

Eric smiled a little. "I always hoped she'd turn out well. She was well on her way when I turned her," he said with some melancholy in his tone. "She is—happy?"

"She seems to be."

"And Hoyt and Jessica?"

"Arguing a lot these days. Jess wants kids," I reported. "She wants to adopt them. Hoyt is draggin' his feet. They seem happy about 50% of the time," I said sadly.

He shrugged. "Maybe that is a good proportion for most. What of your brother?"

"You don't care about him," I said, "or any of them." I wasn't accusing. I was just stating fact.

"Maybe not—but I am," he paused, "making small talk."

I chuckled. "Okay then. Jason's good; actually, he's _really_ good. He married a woman name Brigette, and she works in Shreveport doing some kind of research on oil's long-lasting effects on micro-organisms." I chuckled louder. "To tell you the truth—Jason has no clue what she does, but he's happy as a clam. They have three kids—all daughters—and he's become a stay-at-home dad until they all go to school. Brigette's salary is lots more than a Bon Temp's policeman could make, but Andy's holding his place. How's Pam?" I asked, in the spirit of small talk.

"Extremely displeased with me at the moment, but fine otherwise." He smirked. "She is as bitchy as ever when things don't go her way."

"Would you like to come to the house?" I asked. "And—uh—tell me about it?"

Eric looked at Bill's grave. "That depends."

"On what?"

"Are you still mourning him?"

"Bill?"

He nodded.

"No. I'm not still mourning Bill."

"Then why are you here?"

"Sometimes I need a place to get pissed off," I said honestly, "so that I don't take my bitterness into my children's home."

He looked at me with narrowed eyes. "Thank you for answering. I would love to come into your house."

* * *

><p>ERIC POV<p>

I carried Sookie's child all the way to her crib. She smelled mostly like Sookie: sunlight in a bottle. But I no longer worried so much about Sookie when it came to vampires. And I wouldn't worry about her daughter either. Young ones like Jessica, James, Keith, and Willa were around Sookie and Adele all the time—as they were near Adilyn, who was even more Fae than Sookie. All had become desensitized to the scent of fairy. In fact, it was only the older vampires who smelled the fairy blood acutely. And, since I had kept Area 5 when the new king was appointed—and had kept a tight rein on who entered it—I was no longer concerned that others would find and covet Sookie and the other fairy-human hybrids in Bon Temps. There were very few outside of the area who knew what she was, after all.

Among vampires still holding positions of power, only Isabel knew about Sookie's telepathy, and I trusted her to keep that secret to herself.

Ironically, my biggest concern regarding Sookie involved Pam, who continued to hate her venomously. But my progeny had finally come to terms with the fact that hurting Sookie hurt me. And—though Pam currently hated me—I knew she wouldn't destroy me by bringing harm to Sookie and her kin.

No—Sookie was safe in the little enclave of "friendly" Supes in northern Louisiana that I'd made sure was intact for her.

Thus, Adele would grow up safely too. And the boy—Hunter.

The truth was that it had been Bill who had always been the wildcard—the one who had added variables to the mix; Lorena, Russell, Talbot, and Nan were all made aware of Sookie's telepathy because of Bill. Sookie had been ready to give herself to Warlow because of Bill's prodding. The witches had become more dangerous because Bill had forced the issue. Hell—I was surprised that he'd not announced Sookie's telepathy and fairy heritage in that damned book of his!

Even Sophie-Anne had kept Sookie's existence quiet, for she'd coveted Sookie. No—Sookie had been compromised most because of Bill—because he'd kept things like that damned file on her: a file that had spilled all of her secrets!

As if a vampire needed such a thing to remember information!

But Bill was no more. Neither was Sookie's other potential "compromiser," Hadley.

I heard the steady breathing of the twelve-year-old boy who occupied Sookie's old room in the home. She'd "inherited" him only three days after she'd had her own child. His mother had died of a drug overdose, and the child had been found in squalor. Sookie's ex-husband had filed for divorce soon after that. I knew of these things because I had kept tabs on Sookie.

Even as I'd kept my distance.

"How is the boy doing?" I asked.

She smiled sadly. "Hunter's still a little small for his age; he was just so malnourished when I got him. But he's healthy now! And he no longer has nightmares." She paused for a moment. "He enjoys being home-schooled. Next year, we're gonna try regular school since his shields are getting better. But if that doesn't work, Keith will help me with some of the subjects. He used to be a high school math teacher. Did you know that?"

"I did," I said as she led me to the living room. I knew everything about the vampires in my area.

"NewBlood?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No thanks," I said sourly.

She chuckled. "What—don't you like the taste of your own product?"

"It's the _aftertaste_ I dislike," I said honestly.

We sat down on either end of the old couch.

"Why did you come?" she asked, cutting to the chase.

"I'm making some life changes," I responded. "I've grown weary of the life I'm leading."

"Not like Godric!" she exclaimed, sounding afraid.

"No," I chuckled ruefully. "At least—_not yet_."

"You said Pam wasn't happy with you?" she asked, shifting the subject, even as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"She's not. She thinks, for example, that I'm insane for coming here."

"Why are you here?" she asked, biting her lip.

"I love you," I responded.

She gasped and then took a lengthy breath. She looked unsure—skeptical.

Hopeful.

"You still love me?"

I shrugged. "Ask me how many times I've fallen in love in a thousand years, and I'll tell you _twice_. Ask me how many times I've found someone I thought would make the perfect partner for me, and I'll tell you an even lower number."

"Never?" she asked in a whisper.

"No. Once. You."

She took another long breath.

"You are surprised," I commented. I didn't need to ask.

"Yes."

"I'm not surprised that you are surprised," I smirked. "For fate clearly hates the both of us."

"Why do you say that?"

"I love a woman who seems to doubt that she has a right to be loved. And, even if you could love me back, you doubt my ability to love at all. So—_yes_—fate is a bitch who hates us."

"Yes," Sookie agreed. "It is."

We were silent for a moment.

"How about we make it _our_ bitch?" I asked her.

"How?"

"A chance," I whispered. "A change."

"Change?"

I nodded. "You are now looking at the _ex_-CEO of NewBlood. I have dissolved the company. In about an hour, the formula for a blood containing the cure for Hep-V will be leaked on the Internet, and samples of Sarah's blood have already been sent to twenty of the world's most renowned chemists. I imagine that a lot of companies will scramble to produce the cure."

"That is why Pam is angry?"

"Yes—that is one reason," I said. "Plus, I let Sarah Newlin go, though she was glamoured to go to the nearest police station to turn herself in." I sighed. "For too long, I enabled Pam to use Sarah as a blood slave. But that didn't help me 'feel' avenged for Nora's death. It just left me feeling dirty. I think Pam would have eventually felt the same way—_or not_. Either way, it is time that I truly let Pamela live her life on her own. I love her, and she is loyal like no other, but I've done her no favors by keeping her too tied me. She deserves to seek true independence, and—to do that—she needed to hate me a little." I chuckled. "Like all children must 'hate' their parents as they reach for their own lives."

"What about Fangtasia?" Sookie asked.

"I signed it over to Pam to do with what she wants."

"But you love that place."

"No. I don't. But even if I did, I love other things much more."

"Are you still sheriff?"

"Yes," I responded. "And that I will stay." I smiled. "I like this area. I always have. It's grown peaceful now that Bill is gone. And the new king of this state is content with letting me manage things my way as long as the coffers continue to be filled." I paused. "I'm not contrite enough to let leak the fact that I've had the full cure to Hep-V all along. I don't want to be caught in _that_ shit-storm. But I _am_ contrite enough to stop making a profit on the misfortune of others of my kind."

Sookie gave me a little smile before she frowned. "Did any of it matter? Any of what we went through?"

"It's life," I said. "Of course it mattered."

She shook her head a little.

"Bill once told me that 'life' was about having children—and maybe seeing their children—or even their children's children. But he felt that life should have a shelf-life—that it was unnatural if it didn't." Sookie sighed. "In the end, he thought only of the graves of his family—and of his own empty grave."

I nodded. "I know what Bill thought. Would you like to know what I think 'life' means, Sookie? Would you finally risk asking me that question? After all this time? All these years? All the bitterness?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes. What is 'life' to you, Eric?"

I smiled a little. "First of all, the length of a life is _nothing_. A minute of _real_ life—true life—is preferable to a century of half-life or no-life. Take it from someone who knows. What matters is _connection_." I held out my hand to her.

Tentatively, she took it.

As always, I felt a jolt at our touch. And I could feel from her jumping heart that she felt it too.

I looked at our joined hands. "_This_ mattered. And it could matter again—if you let it matter, Sookie. I am ready to stop being bitter at the world. I am ready to enjoy the sweet again. And I want to do both with you. However, I am prepared to do them on my own. I don't need you, Sookie Stackhouse. I have existed without you, and I will continue to exist without you. However, I _want_ you. I've always wanted you. Make no mistake about that."

"Why?"

"My human mother once told me that the men of my line were _difficult_ to live with." I chuckled. "She said we were high-handed and high-maintenance. She said that we required a tenacious touch. My father valued my mother above all others. He knew her worth—even during the early days of their lives together when she'd yet to understand her own worth. And, in turn, she bolstered him—even during the early days when he was not always strong.

"They lived as partners—true complements. Even as a child, I recognized that what they had was rare and priceless. And I have looked for it for a thousand years—even though I doubted I'd find it.

"You—Sookie. It is in _you_ that I have found what I was looking for. You are my complement. My other half. My soul mate." I smiled gently at her. "But it does not stand to reason that you would see me in these ways. After all, fate can be a hateful bitch—as we've already established. I will admit to becoming bitter—bitter that you seemed to see Bill as I saw you. That you saw him as your match. And I have held onto my bitterness about that—and about a great many other things—for years. But I am weary of feeling bitter."

"What will you do now?" she asked quietly.

"I will get down onto my knees and ask you to love me as I love you," I said, even as I sank to the floor in front of her.

She gasped to see me on my knees, but she shouldn't have been surprised. After all, she'd seen me on them before.

When I'd dropped to them when greeting my maker in the basement of the Fellowship of the Sun church.

When I'd fallen to them to beg Godric to stay in the world.

When I'd collapsed to them while handcuffed to Russell in the sun.

When I'd volunteered to sacrifice myself to the witch's ire in order to save Sookie.

And there had been other times that she'd not seen. But she needed to know that I would always fall to my knees before her—if she would only be willing to fall with me.

As I looked into her eyes, I tried to let my bitterness go.

"I am here," I told her. "I am unafraid. And I am not weakened through this act of being on my knees. I do not beg. On the contrary, I offer you _myself_ to love, Sookie Stackhouse. I do this because fate had never given us a real chance before, but I still want to make that chance with you. If you say, 'no thank you,' I will grieve your loss—finally—for I've avoided grieving for you for six years. But I _will_ move on."

"Eric," she whispered, looking extremely uncomfortable that I was kneeling before her. But I didn't care.

"Please, Sookie. Give me us a chance to live a love story for the ages. Give us a chance to right wrongs. I love you—_all_ of you. There isn't a part I don't want."

"I have children now," she said.

"So? I happen to like children."

"What about when I'm old and wrinkly?"

"I will convince you to let me turn you before that happens."

"Oh really?" she asked, a little light in her eyes.

I nodded. "Yes. Once we are truly together—as we should be—it won't be any issue."

"You are confident—aren't you?"

"No—I think I will fail," I said honestly. "But I know that, _if_ I succeed, there will be no more doubts or pain when it comes to what we are together."

"You came here thinking you would fail?" she asked.

I nodded. "Of course. I have always failed to win you, Sookie." I felt myself smiling slightly—sadly. "The difference this time is that I will no longer be bitter at you or myself if I fail. This is it, Sookie. _This_ night. _This_ moment. Your choice—now. My choice has been _you_ all along. You are the one I wish to be my partner—my helpmeet for the years to come. I believe that we were meant to be 'one.' But what matters now is if you can believe that too."

"One," she whispered, "like you said in the cubby?"

"Yes. Even without my memories, I knew what you could mean to me—what I wished to mean to you."

We were silent for a moment as she processed what I'd said—what I'd offered.

"So?" I asked when it seemed from her eyes that she'd made her decision.

She got onto her knees with me.

"So—maybe it's time that you and I finally got to _know_ each other," Sookie said, "without one of us having amnesia, without Hep-V-infected vampires running amuck, without bombs going off, without deranged vampires or Weres or witches or faepires trying to kill us, and—_most importantly_—without Bill. Who knows? Maybe we could find that 'everything' you once asked me for."

Her words were like music to my ears. But a part of me—the part that had been rejected by her before—had to make sure. "You're sure, Sookie? If we do this, _we do it_. No more hedging, no more half-truths, no more . . . ."

"No more half-life," she interrupted. She smiled a little, and—for the first time that night—it snuck into her eyes. "I'm tired of the bitterness too, Eric. I can't promise you that 'everything' right off the bat. But that real 'chance' you want—that change you want? I want those things too."

"So," I said with a smirk, "how do we go about doing this—when we don't have deranged vampires and Weres and witches and faepires after us?"

"I have no idea," she answered with a laugh.

I laughed with her; it felt good.

"Well—what are you doing tomorrow night?" I asked, even as I stood up and took her hands in order to take her up with me.

"Being a mother," she chuckled.

I refrained from asking her if I could be a 'mother _fucker_.' Instead, I asked her the question she _needed_ to hear and the one I _needed_ to hear answered: "It would be my honor to take you and your children out tomorrow night, Sookie. Would you go on a date with me?"

"A date?" Sookie asked.

"I'll want a kiss at the end of it—at the very least," I smirked, feeling lighter than I'd felt in years.

Her eyes looked lighter too—less worried than I'd ever seen them. And more beautiful because of it.

"Then you will probably get one," she responded.

"Can I have one now?" I asked.

"You may," she said a little coyly.

Her lips were as soft as I remembered them. Her taste was even better, for no traces of Bill Compton lingered in her scent or in her blood. She opened her lips, inviting in my tongue.

And just like that—in the blink of an eye, in the catch of her breath, in the tic of a clock—the taste of her exploded my senses.

And that bitter taste that had been in my mouth and in my mind for so long was gone.

And there was only sweet possibility left in its wake.

The End.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well—I hope you liked this little story. (Well—little for me.) You can thank my getting stuck on campus without my laptop as I waited for a meeting. I had intended just to brainstorm a bit, but then this short story started coming out of my brain. I think I'm still trying to come to terms with the end of the show, which left me unsatisfied in SO MANY WAYS. This is just a brief attempt at a "fix." I know that it's probably "too easy." LOL—Eric and Sookie actually talking? INCONCEIVEABLE! **

**I do still plan to write a complete version of Season 7 at some point, but I don't know when. I have so many things brewing in the pot right now. But that's good. Right? I hope you think so. That means I'll keep writing Eric/Sookie stories for a while since I have many more I want to tell. I hope you will continue to read them.**

**Much love!**

**Kat**

**Remember to visit my blog to see Seph's wonderful banner art for this fic! Thanks Seph. californiakat1564. wordpress. com**

**And thanks again to Kleannhouse for the beta work!**


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